Wolf Hunt
by Trindajae
Summary: Episode addition for Death Knell, Season 7. Though I was forced to mark this poetry, I have an alergy to rhyming and an even stronger hatred of sappiness. This is a POV piece that demanded to be done in poetry format.


I close my eyes and dream, whether I want to or not.  
Blinking, sleeping, it doesn't matter.  
Even keeping my eyes open cannot prevent the images  
From playing out in my mind as soon as darkness falls.  
The pictures form a movie in my head,  
Showing me the inevitability of my death.

At every crack of a twig, every rustle of a leaf  
My heart pounds painfully against my ribs  
Air comes only reluctantly into my lungs  
The sound of birdsong falling silent  
Lends a whole new dimension to the fear,  
The inexorable terror of the injured animal  
That knows when the predator draws closer.

A part of my brain marvels at that image,  
Files it away for later study as more evidence  
Of the close ties between man and animal  
Later study, provided I can escape this trap.  
There's certainly no guarantee this time.  
The rest of me is too busy surviving now  
To bother worrying about later.

I exhale softly as I see my goal.  
The only weapon for miles in every direction.  
I just hope it's enough to end this horrific game of cat-and-mouse.  
The little corner of my mind that thinks these things  
Points out that the image of myself as a mouse  
Cannot possibly help the situation.

Better to think of myself as a wolf,  
Injured and cut off from the safety of the pack.  
It's more accurate than a mouse, anyway.  
Mice generally can't kill the cat,  
But even injured wolves can protect themselves.  
That image brings a grim satisfaction that  
Never quite manages to put even an unhappy smile on my face.

I am going to die out here.  
I've lost too much blood to limp back to the gate on my own.  
No one knows where I am and I have no way to call for help.  
But I damn well am going to take this threat down with me.  
Let that be my epitaph.  
"Here lies Samantha Carter, who took her enemy with her to the grave."  
That thought would be worth a grim smile  
If smiling didn't take so much effort.

It seems to take a year of waiting for the dust to settle  
Waiting to see if the predator stalking me is dead  
The mound of rubble seems fitting, somehow.  
_Look, Dad, I even cleaned up after myself.  
The corpse is all properly buried and everything.  
_I squelch the urge to giggle at the thought.

I don't so much sit down on the rocks as  
I collapse on a nearby pile of dirt.  
Nothing left to do now except wait to die  
Or perhaps wait to be rescued.  
It doesn't seem to matter as much as the fact that  
I'm not running anymore.  
The chase is over.

I have never heard a more depressing sound in my life  
Than the sound of the beast rising from it's grave.  
There's no point in running anymore.  
I have nothing left with which to fight.  
I doubt I could stand up if my life depended on it.  
Oh wait, it does. And I can't.  
The only thing I can do is just sit here and wait to die.

My enemy raises its arm slowly  
There is no need for it to rush.  
It knows that I cannot get away.  
The slideshow of my life does not pass before my eyes  
I don't bother to list my regrets  
I know what I left unfinished.  
I would probably be depressed if I wasn't so tired.

It takes my brain several precious seconds to identify  
The sound of shotgun blasts and to draw the logical conclusion.  
Goa'uld don't use shotguns.  
That means I'm down range of friendly fire.  
Only years' worth of training and practical experience  
Are enough to force me onto feet I can no longer feel  
As I stumble away from my foe to hard cover.

I muster the strength to look for the beast walking toward me  
I hear the report of the prototype near me.  
Dropping down while the beast attacks,  
The form next to me resolves into the image of Colonel O'Neill.  
A dangerously giddy voice in my head celebrates  
_My pack has found me_.

The Colonel looks over at me with an urgent question in his eyes.  
He expects something of me.  
No, he expects something _from_ me.  
"Carter, I need-"  
My hand holds out the power cell almost of its own volition.  
Now my packmates can make the beast die.

And then everything becomes quiet.  
I can see my enemy lying defeated on the ground.  
I should feel victorious, but I don't.  
Teal'c moves to make sure it's dead.  
It doesn't feel real that it could be, but  
The colonel confirms it.

I close my eyes to let that knowledge sink in.  
_Now_ the running is done and I begin to hope that  
I will not die out here because my packmates will carry me home.  
I feel the last dregs of energy take away with them  
The last bits of caring as I sink down behind my little fortress.

It's funny how painful it is to regain lost hope.  
The part of me that has kept me alive during this day of being hunted  
Refuses to accept it because losing it again would surely kill me.  
Therefore, it cannot be true that I might survive this.  
It makes sense in a twisted kind of way.

The colonel sits down beside me as I rest.  
The weight of his arm is almost too much to bear on my shoulders  
There isn't a part of me that's not in pain or drained from the blood lost.  
I have nothing with which to resist as the arm pulls me to him.  
My head lands on his shoulder.

Peace.

_Packmates are here_, the little voice whispers.  
_Packmates will stand guard.  
Sleep now_.  
I silently agree as I savor the sensation of my friend sitting next to me  
And surrender to the darkness.


End file.
